


keep the days long

by raeldaza



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Platonic Love, Post-Canon, and being kind to each other, just haanging out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:08:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raeldaza/pseuds/raeldaza
Summary: “Oh spirits, no, this will not do,” Sokka groans. He points at Aang, eyes narrowing. “You are going to go with tall and grumpy and have a lovely day and forget about the fact that you have thousands of years of responsibility on your shoulders, and you,” he points to Zuko, “are going to go with short and cheerful and have a wonderful day and forget about the fact that you have decades of political strife ahead of you to contend with. Okay?”Or, Zuko and Aang have a boy's day out.
Relationships: Aang & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 323





	keep the days long

Zuko would never admit it, not aloud and certainly never to his Uncle, but dearly he wishes he had a cup of tea. Not even to drink, though he wouldn’t necessarily _object_ to some hydration in the warm summer heat, but more just so he has something to fiddle with, to mask his mounting anxiety.

As it is, he clenches his fingers into fists on his lap, and hopes the table is high enough and he close enough to hide them from the other council members.

The meeting has been going on long – far longer than they felt when his father disappeared as a child. Though, perhaps the time Ozai was away just always felt too short, and he was simply too young to understand why.

He always felt anxious and unsettled when his father summoned him to his chamber – every single time. The feeling here isn’t exactly the same, perhaps a cousin instead of a twin, but there’s echoes – the rising heartbeat, the sweat of the palms, the trouble focusing his eyes, the quickening breath and trembling fingers.

“Lord Zuko.” Zuko’s gaze snaps to the right, two men down. His ambassador to the Earth Kingdom. “Did you not say that that royal bank was near empty?”

His fists clench harder in his lap. “Uh—” He clears his throat once. “Yes.” He lowers his voice, trying to add years to an age everyone already knows anyway. “That’s what I was told. Funds are – funds are low.”

“I’m _aware,_ Ambassador Freman,” someone hisses from down the table. The minister of education. His name is – his name. Starts with a D? “And that’s why we have to pick what we focus funds on so carefully these first few months. It’s the backbone on which we rebuild. And—”

Attention has been thoroughly diverted from Zuko, but instead of relieved, he simply feels lost, like a small rowboat lost in the waves of a storm, far away from the large ships with experience and weight and steel centers.

The noise around the table is starting to merge, as voices overlap, and tensions rise.

Person 1. “What about reparations to the villages burned and pillaged? How can we ever begin to raise trust without acknowledging our past mistakes?”

Freman. “The present matters more than the past. Any money should go to the refugees—”

Person 3. “What about the Fire Nation? Our people? We have an influx of soldiers coming home from defeat. They need jobs, opportunities. The money should be shifted to the economy—“

Person 4. “What about the damages of the war on _our_ city? There are kids playing on tanks. How do we expect our people to heal and move on if we don’t repair the scars of the landscape?”

Person 3 again. “If Lord Zuko is serious about recalling all the troops, you have to know it’s not just hawks to recall people. We have bases, we have factories, we have prisons. Do we just abandon these areas for the buildings to become war relics, homages to our past? We should put the money in to have them all dismantled.”

Freman again. “That’s not just the money to dismantle, it’s the money to send people out, to gather a workforce.”

The minister of education. “Are we completely forgetting about the re-education plan? If we want to change the curriculum in schools, we need to have the staffing to reach out to other nations. If we have, as Avatar Aang has relayed, changed history, then our own educators need to be re-educated. If we do not change what we teach, and learn from the mistakes of the past, generations ahead are fated to repeat the same mistakes. That will take time, resources, and money. Not to mention the cost of reprinting materials—”

Person 1 again. “How should that possibly take precedence over war reparations to those the Fire Nation has actively killed or harmed?”

Freman once more. “But how would we begin? If we start in one nation, we’ll be accused of favoritism or ignorance. If we request people write us with how they’ve been harmed, that’s inviting lies and overwhelming numbers. We’d need a task force to investigate every claim. If we wait for people to come to us without the invitation, we’ll be accused of negligence and not caring.”

Person 5. “What does the Fire Lord think?”

All eyes turn to him, and Zuko had never so keenly felt all of his sixteen years.

He coughs once, biding time, as if an extra second is going to drop the wisdom of the ages in his head. He wishes Aang were here, with the _actual_ wisdom of the ages bopping around in his head. Although, he supposes that only comes in the spirit realm – can Aang do that at will, now that he’s a fully realized Avatar? Could he attend these meetings with Zuko, jump into the minds and knowledge amassed from thousands of years of experience, and then tell him what to do? Is that an option?

It’s been far longer than a second. He coughs again. “Well – I suppose…Why don’t you all write out your suggestions tonight, once you have time to think through them, and tomorrow we can discuss and choose?”

* * *

“And then I just—” he mimes an explosion with his hands. “Pushed it off until tomorrow!” He flops down on the floor mat, not caring how dramatic he looks. It’s only to his Uncle and some random old customer, anyway. “Like that’s a good way to go about it – let me just do it now but plan for it tomorrow!”

“As I recall, nephew, you always were rather fond of that strategy.”

Zuko glares at his Uncle, who’s serenely reorganizing the boxes of tea on the shelf behind the counter. He closes his eyes and groans, lightly banging his head on the floor underneath him.

The day is hot – summer is coming to its crescendo, the light, pale blue sky shimmering with the heat of the sun, not a cloud to be found. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his neck, from the oppressive humidity or his own anxiety, or some combination, and even his lighter, common robes are starting to stick to skin in uncomfortable places.

“I guess,” he mumbles, just loud enough to still be heard. “I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

His uncle hummed. “No one really does.”

“But I need to.” He doesn’t want to whine, he’s a grown up, he’s a _Lord,_ he doesn’t want to whine. “I _need_ to. Someone needs to make decisions, and there’s so much wrong, and I don’t have enough years of experience behind me to know what to do, and what if I do it _wrong—_ ”

“Zuko, my boy, do you know what worry most often amounts to?”

“Societal collapse?”

“Time.”

Zuko stares up at the ceiling. The paneling is new, he knows, he remembers Uncle talking about it getting replaced. He hired an Earth bender who accidentally shattered a teacup.

“I feel like I should be better at this.”

“Sixteen is very young still, my boy.”

“That’s my point.” He bangs his head against the floor, just for emphasis. “That’s my point. Most sixteen-year olds are worried about their hair and what to say to a pretty girl when she walks into his tea shop. I don’t get to be most sixteen-year olds.”

That finally seems to get his Uncle to pause, his hand still on a tea canister. After a moment, he aligns it with the shelf, then turns around. Somber, though not upset, he makes his way over to Zuko, sitting down and crossing his legs. After a moment, he reaches down, and grasps Zuko’s hand lightly.

“I suppose you don’t have that privilege.” Zuko lets his eyes close shut. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll sit in on your meeting tomorrow and take your place. You go out and be sixteen.”

Zuko opens his eyes. Uncle looks perfectly serious. “You can’t be serious.”

“What? You don’t think this old man has what it takes to sit in on a council meeting?”

“No, I mean—”

“I’ll have you know, I was a great war general before you were ever even born.”

“No, Uncle, I know—”

“I sat in and ignored more policy meetings than days you’ve been alive, my boy!”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Zuko says, putting his hands up. “Okay. But what should I do?”

“I don’t know.” Uncle flaps his hand at him, then stands. “Grab one of your friends and make them decide. Planning ahead was more that Southern boy’s expertise than yours, if memory serves from your stories.”

Zuko flushes.

* * *

“No, too hot,” Sokka answers immediately.

“Oh, well, sure—”

“It’s not _too hot,_ ” Katara interrupts whatever Zuko was going to say, which, admittedly, was probably not going to be anything much worth hearing. “Do you have any memory at all of walking through the desert with _no_ water for _days?_ That was too hot! This is nothing in comparison.”

“No, I don’t really remember,” Sokka snipes back cheerfully. He’s laid out on his bed in his chamber, starfished and unabashedly not wearing a shirt. “Because I was _out of my mind_ most of that trip, thanks to _someone_ who _let_ me drink cactus juice.”

“ _Let you?”_ Katara cries back, and Zuko is rapidly losing any part of this conversation, although he was the one that actually began it in the first place.

He watches as Katara and Sokka lovingly pester one another at an increasing pitch for a few moments, before sparing a glance at Aang, whose sitting in the corner and watching them with a fond and completely content smile.

“What about you?” Zuko asks. Aang looks over at him, and blinks. “If Sokka and Katara aren’t – aren’t wanting to, would you – I don’t know, want to go and – do something or other?”

“Hey!” Sokka says, sitting up straight, and dislodging a Katara who was wrestling him for the fan he was holding. She tumbles to the ground, and he swings his legs over the side of the bed. “You’d go without us?”

“You said you it was too hot to go,” Zuko replies, getting a little flustered. “I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up, Sokka,” Katara says cheerfully from the floor. Pulling herself up, she sits back down on the bad, and bumps Sokka’s shoulder with her own, all animosity gone in an instant. “Why _don’t_ you and Aang go, Zuko? He was just saying he hadn’t had a chance to really explore the city, and Sokka and I haven’t had a sibling’s day in a long time.” She throws an easy arm around his shoulders.

“Have we wanted one?” The grip on Sokka’s shoulder visibly tightens. “Of course we wanted one, yes, good idea.”

“Oh, well, I guess – do you want to, Aang?”

Aang grimaces a little at him and looks down to this lap, and Zuko repeats to himself, silently, _a no isn't_ _rejection, don’t feel rejection._ “I was thinking of going to the city library tomorrow, actually – your history has been so buried, but you have some documentation in the city, and as the Avatar—”

“Oh spirits, no, this will not do,” Sokka groans. He points at Aang, eyes narrowing. “You are going to go with tall and grumpy and have a lovely day and forget about the fact that you have thousands of years of responsibility on your shoulders, and you,” he points to Zuko, “are going to go with short and cheerful and have a wonderful day and forget about the fact that you have decades of political strife ahead of you to contend with. Okay?”

They both stare for a moment, but Aang recovers first.

“Okay,” he says, oddly thoughtful. “Okay. A day out for Zuko to relax. I can do that.”

“Both of you,” Sokka amends, pointing between them. “Both of you! And lay off the bending. Take a day off, sheesh.”

At that, Aang and Zuko share a look.

“Sure, man,” Aang says. Sokka sticks his tongue out at him, which starts a war with who can stick it out further, and Zuko does love each of them, to the point of sacrifice, but in that moment, he’d rather just go back to the council meeting.

* * *

It’s daybreak, Zuko’s face is covered (to an extent), Aang’s head is covered (to a better extent), and they’re headed into the city.

“So!” Aang starts, hands clapping together. He’s lightly skipping beside Zuko, his steps high and spirited, and Zuko hopes this doesn’t prove more exhausting than a council meeting. “What did you want to do? Did you want to go to the market? Out to eat? Up to a lookout on the volcano? Do an activity? Do you guys have a zoo? Do you have a favorite spot? What’s the best street to start on? Do you have anyone you want to visit? Can we go to the market? What do you want to do?”

He resists the urge to groan. “Isn’t it a little early to do things?”

“Remember Zuko, we try to start all adventures with an upbeat attitude!”

“Right,” he replies dismally.

“So, what do you want to do first? Ooo, how about breakfast? Breakfast sounds good!”

“We can get food from main street carts.”

“Lead the way, Fire Lord Master King Zuko Sir!”

Zuko grimaces, but does, heading towards the main street. There are still broken pieces of tanks and machinery scattered, littering the land.

 _Don’t think about it,_ Zuko tells himself sternly. It defeats the purpose of the day, to forget about what he has to do, and focus on what he has. And Aang – Aang doesn’t need to be thinking of all he has to do, either. He should be able to relax too.

He seems a little better at that naturally than Zuko, if the way he’s skipping and whistling is any indication.

Zuko is suddenly awkwardly aware of the fact that he hasn’t tried to make conversation in the last several minutes, and tries to run through sentence openers in his head.

_How about this weather?_

Lame.

_What do you want to do today?_

He already gave him a list.

_How are you liking the Fire Nation, when its leader isn’t actively trying to murder you?_

Bad, Zuko, no.

_How about them…trees._

“So,” Zuko starts. He clears his throat. “How’s Appa?”

Aang brightens. “He’s great! His coat is thinning out a lot given the summer months. In the spring, he sheds terribly. It’s actually enough to be trackable, we learned! It’s so much fur. But in the summer, it thins all out, and his coat is less thick, and he gets shinier, I guess? And he seems to be less itchy with less fur. I really like his fur, though. But I can only imagine how hot it gets, you know? It’s like several blankets!” His arm splays out for emphasis, and hits Zuko straight in the ribs. Aang doesn’t appear to notice. “He’s doing well here, though. He does well pretty much everywhere, I guess, but he’s been flying a lot, kind of exercising himself while I am busying inside reading. I do miss flying on him. I hope I can do it more, but I know my duties are probably going to interfere. But I feel like I have to make him a priority, you know? Because we’re connected, and because he’s – he’s Appa, you know? We’ve been through so much together. And he’s the last of the sky bison. Or so I think, you never really know, you know? But I have to make sure he’s cared for and loved. So, I should probably go and see him a little more. He always is so happy to see me. Aren’t animals great?”

After several moments of extended silence, Zuko looks over, and at Aang’s anticipatory expression, realizes that one actually was expected to have an answer.

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Right?” Aang nods a little wildly. “They really are. Do you have a favorite?”

“Oh. Well.” He looks down at his feet. He’s in his common robes, the ones he’s less likely to be recognized in, and they’re already dusty. “I don’t know. I used to – I liked turtleducks. But that’s dumb.”

“Why is that dumb?”

Zuko’s startled into looking directly over at Aang, who looks completely sincere.

“Oh. Uh. They're just...fragile. I mean – I don’t…know?”

“It’s not dumb, they’re super cute! There was this one time when I was first learning air bending that I was hanging around this fountain, and I kept picking one up and down a couple inches, and the mother started—oo, biscuits!”

Aang grabs his hand and forcefully drags Zuko towards a cart in the street. It has a large plate of biscuits shaped like flowers, and Zuko watches as Aang greets the young woman working the cart pleasantly, making polite chit-chat, as Zuko stands behind about a foot, silent.

“And this is Lee!” Aang reaches blindly behind him, grasping Zuko’s hand and forcefully yanking him forward. “He’s my brother!”

“Brother,” the woman repeats, looking between the two. Aang grins widely, all teeth, and Zuko grimaces a smile back. “Right. Well, it’s nice to meet you both.”

“Lee is single,” Aang proclaims, and Zuko feels immediately, acutely betrayed.

“Shut up!” he hisses at Aang, who smiles at him, unrepentant. He glances up at the woman, who is smiling rather placidly. “I’m sorry. I mean, I am, but—ignore him. He’s just trying to—I have no idea what he’s trying to do.”

“He’s trying to be helpful!” Aang gestures between the two of them rapidly. “I see two cute people, why not they be cute together?”

“He has a point,” the young woman comments calmly, a smile twitching on her lips, and anxiety spills immediately into Zuko’s brain, the panic button pressed.

Aang elbows him the stomach repeatedly, quick jabs unnervingly placed at his kidneys. “Eh? Eh?”

“Please stop.” He elbows Aang back, hitting his head at their height difference, and Aang falls a few feet to the left with an _oof._

“Hey!”

“Thank you for the bread, sorry for – for the rest of it,” Zuko says hurriedly, grabbing two of the flower biscuits, and turning and walking doggedly in any other direction.

“Hey!” Aang says again, hurrying after him. “What was that about? She was cute and seemed into it!”

Zuko doesn’t reply, stalking towards what looks to be an empty alley, willing the hot panic to dissolve from his veins.

They reach the alley, Aang still following behind, and when Zuko finally spins around to confront him, he almost hits Aang in the head once again with his flailing arm.

“What was that about?!”

“What? I was helping?”

“ _Helping?”_ Zuko repeats. Why do people keep trying to _help_ him with women? He doesn’t need help! “How was that helping?”

“How wasn’t it?”

Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am not looking for – that. With anyone. Right now. Let alone one of my subjects.”

“But—” Aang looks so put out that Zuko almost feels guilty. “But your Uncle—”

“Oh no, not him. What did he say?”

“It’s just – isn’t this supposed to be a _do fun teenager stuff_ day? Girls are something teenagers do!”

Zuko grimaces. It’s not that he has _no_ experiences with romance, even with strangers – people do hit on him, he just usually reacts with such an intense sense of awkwardness and dread that people regret it fairly quickly. Now that he’s Fire Lord, romance is something to put aside. For now, at least.

“I just – I don’t want to do that. I can’t get involved with one of my subjects. It’s not – fair. Or proper.”

“It could just be practice,” Aang suggests. This clearly was on his list for the day, and Zuko suppresses a sigh.

“I don’t need practice. I know what I’m doing,” he lies.

“Really? Do you think you could give me some advice about Katara, then?”

_Abort. Abort, abort, abort._

“Oh, I don’t—” In for a penny. “Yes?”

“Should I buy her more gifts? Compliment her more? Take her on more dates? What do girls like? Am I doing okay?”

Zuko wondered briefly if there was a single, solitary human being on the planet less qualified to have this discussion. Babies, possibly. Though babies were less likely to give bad advice, given their inability to speak, so maybe not.

“Girls like…things.” Aang blinks at him. His mind flits unwittingly to a seashell, and he tries another tactic. “Does she seem happy?”

“I mean, yeah. I think?”

Zuko shrugs, feeling useless. “If she’s happy, why should you change anything?”

Aang shrugs, apparently not having a reply to that.

They both become aware that they’re standing in an alley at about the same second, as Aang grabs Zuko’s wrist, excitement visibly rebounding throughout him.

“Bring the biscuits, I had another idea!”

* * *

The show isn’t bad, actually.

He and Aang share the biscuits back and forth, sitting in the crowd, managing to blend into the small packs of people. They’re seated on the ground, and dirt is slowly making its home in the sole of his shoe, but it’s almost…nice, to be able to focus on something totally meaningless for about an hour, to watch the players skip around the stage, some pithy romance about a fire bender falling in love with an Earth bender from dueling families, enjoying the poor production values but the high enthusiasm.

Aang is certainly enjoying it, if his gleeful bouncing is any indication.

“Better than the last one we saw together, huh?” Aang says, once it’s over.

“Yeah,” Zuko readily agrees. “Maybe I should have more of these entertainment days at the palace. They always ask if I want players with dinner.”

Something on Aang’s face shadows, slightly. “I thought – I thought these shows were something that only happened on the streets. Like, for free, for the poor or teenagers or children to watch, ‘cause it was free.”

“Oh, well, yeah, but there’s higher quality ones too. They have traveling troupes with higher end plays.”

“Hmf,” Aang snorts dismissively, and Zuko’s not sure where he misstepped.

“Hey, you had said you wanted to go to the market, right?” Zuko tries, just trying to wipe that expression off Aang’s face. “Want to go?”

It takes a second for the pinched look to be replaced by excitement, but something exhales in Zuko when it does.

“Let’s!”

* * *

Aang’s weirdly persistent about buying Zuko a new hairpiece – _it’s trendy, Zuko! In style! You want to look popular with other kids your age, don’t you?_ – and it is entirely possible that Zuko could not care less, but it’s also entirely possible that Aang could not care more, so Zuko resigns himself to having a small gold chain pinned from the middle of his hairline to his crown. He’s a _little_ touchy about his hair, but grits his teeth through the process, and Aang looks satisfied, so he supposes he can’t complain.

Aloud, at least.

They’re still shuffling through different stalls, and Zuko’s considering buying Sokka a new bracelet – it resembles one of his Water Tribe pieces, and something in Zuko would sort of like him to have a Fire Nation equivalent, at least as an _option_ – when he notices Aang staring at something in his palm, rather intently.

“Hey.” He bumps shoulders with Aang and looks at what he’s holding. It looks like a rock. “What are you looking at?”

Aang fondles the little rock lightly. Upon a closer look, Zuko can see the air nomad symbol carved into the middle. “It’s just—" Aang visibly swallows. He looks over at Zuko, his eyes bright and pained, and he suddenly looks years younger than his already young self.

“Hey,” Zuko says softly. “Are you okay?”

Aang swallows, staring down at the symbol, looking lost. “I just — miss them. That’s all. I just wish they were here. That's all.”

He wants to offer some gestures of comfort, something to help take the shine out of his eyes. Maybe a back pat? People do that, right?

He raises a hand, but realizes he doesn’t know where to put it – the middle of the back? The lower part of the back? The _shoulder?_

His hand hovers, somewhere in mid back range, about a foot away from his actual back.

Sokka would have already patted him.

He lowers his hand awkwardly, back to his side, taking little comfort in the fact that Aang probably didn’t notice anyway, with the way his eyes have been tracking Zuko’s face.

“Yeah, buddy.”

That was not good.

Even with practice, he doesn’t seem to be improving at being good at being good.

“Did you ever feel like that?” Aang asks, voice small. “When you were exiled? It’s not the same, I know, but did you ever feel like that?”

Zuko thinks back to long, empty days on a boat, empty seas and endless grasslands and days with nothing to accompany him but thoughts of his own failure and what he left behind.

“Yeah,” Zuko says. “Yeah. There were days I felt so homesick I wanted to die, and there’s nothing to do to make that better. Nothing can take it away.”

Aang looks down at the rock, thumb smoothing over the symbol.

“Except, I suppose,” he continues suddenly, and Aang looks up. “Enduring through it. And you will.”

Zuko knows that missing your family who were part of a genocide is not the same thing as missing your family that caused the genocide – he knows, and he never would want to presume to understand the depth of Aang’s grief. But that look in his eye – the longing for something that will never return, not in the way you want – that he recognizes.

“Look,” Zuko deflects gracefully, pointing at the first thing at the next table over. “Why don’t we buy that?”

Aang looks over, and visibly brightens. He drops the stone and looks back at Zuko, beaming. “Friendship bracelet kits?!”

Zuko looks over. And yes, indeed, that is the first thing on the next table over.

Perhaps this is what Uncle meant about his planning ahead skills. 

* * *

At Aang’s insistence, they end up at a restaurant at a little table, eating lunch and attempting to make the bracelets.

It’s creative and meticulous and tedious, and perhaps unsurprisingly, Zuko is not immediately very good at it. His fingers are just a little too big for the tiny strings, and the string is just a little too slippery to be held easily, and he has always been exceptional at following and creating patterns, but the colors he purchased – blue, yellow, green – don’t look nearly as nice together as he imagined, and he can feel his already reedy patience thinning.

Aang, perhaps also unsurprisingly, has made three, and all look lovely.

“I’ve made one for you, Sokka, and Toph!” Aang holds the three up to Zuko’s face, inches from his eyes, which Zuko bats away irritably.

“That’s great, buddy.”

“Do you think Katara would want one?” Aang asks. He lowers the bracelets, looking at them thoughtfully. “Or is that weird?”

“Why would it be weird?” Zuko asks. He sticks his tongue out in concentration – he’s only three or four pulls away from it being finished, he thinks. He gently touches one string, trying to lightly move it where it needs to go.

“I don’t know, ‘cause we’re kinda…a thing. Like, more than friends. Is that weird? Since it’s a friendship bracelet.”

“I think she’d like anything you made,” Zuko says honestly, if distracted. He ties a final knot on the end and holds it up.

It’s misshapen, atrociously patterned, and too long. It does, however, resemble a bracelet.

“It’s horrible,” he says in dismay.

“I think you did a great job, buddy,” Aang says earnestly.

Zuko glowers.

“Here, I’ll wear it!” He tries to snatch it out of the air, but Zuko pulls back instinctively, and accidentally bumps into a waiter directly behind him.

“Hey, watch it, man,” the waiter says. He turns to look back, and his faces scrunches when he sees what Zuko’s holding. “What’s that thing?”

“None of your business,” Zuko snaps, clenching it in his first.

“Sorry, man.” The waiter grimaces, and clearly tries to backstep, joking, “I hope you didn’t spend a lot of money on something that looks like that!”

Embarrassment, hot and fresh, pulses through Zuko, and he can feel his temper steam over. “THEN YOU DON’T HAVE TO LOOK AT IT ANYMORE! _”_

With a burst of fire, he lights the string, and in a moment, it’s ash in his hand.

“Oh, Zuko,” Aang whines in dismay. “I wanted that!”

“Zuko?” The waiter repeats, and both he and Aang freeze. “Fire Lord Zuko?”

“NO,” Zuko blurts immediately, shaking his head. “We are... _Water Tribe bender travelers!_ ”

The man stares for a second, and then drops to his knees. “Fire Lord! I must beg for your forgiveness!”

The entire restaurant is turning to stare, and this – this is not what Zuko wanted out of this trip.

“Come on,” Aang says, grabbing his hand. He pulls him out of his seat, and they rush towards the exit. Over his shoulder, Aang yells, “Bill the palace for our meal!”

“Oh no,” Zuko mutters under his breath, as the weave their way through the bustle of the people, leaving the restaurants and street behind. “Don’t use your bending, people will know you. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“’We are _water benders,’_ ” Aang mocks, under his breath, as they twist through the streets. “After you fire bend, we are _water benders._ ”

“I’m not good under pressure!”

“How is that possible? You do everything under pressure!”

“Which is maybe why I don’t do anything well!”

They’re running – speed walking, in reality – more or less aimlessly, street by street, until Aang stops abruptly. Zuko just avoids walking directly into his back.

“Hey—”

“Zuko! Look!”

There’s a group of teenagers in the open common space, playing some form of a ball game.

Aang turns back to Zuko, beaming, and he has a sinking feeling he knows where this is going.

* * *

The less remembered about the game, the better, as far as Zuko is concerned.

Aang, while kind, is competitive, and a show-off, and Zuko’s self-aware enough to know he can’t throw stones where either of those traits are concerned. And having two benders – powerful benders – against a group of normal children, well.

It is the first time someone has actually told him to “fuck off” in those exact words, so he supposes he can cross that off his bucket list, though they made Aang cry, and he didn’t have _be chased by your own police force for lighting someone on fire_ on his list. So, maybe not a success, overall.

“I _am_ sorry, Zuko,” Aang apologies earnestly. “I didn’t know they’d be _mean._ ”

Zuko weighs the effort of explaining who was really at fault with what Aang might actually glean from the lecture, and abruptly decides just to let the whole thing go.

“How about a walk?” He suggests. A walk is harmless, right?

A walk is harmless, if accompanied by almost insufferable constant commentary.

They take their time – Zuko shows Aang some of the nicer spots outside of the usual tourist areas, near the volcano and outside the city, and Aang rings with constant enthusiasm and questions.

Zuko notices, though he wishes he didn’t, how often they trend towards history.

It’s unfair how much of the past has been stripped from reality, simply through purposeful misinformation.

Dinner is calm and with little of note, for which Zuko is relieved. They wander around the area, afterwards, Aang amicably chattering about the topography.

“Oh, and that—do you see that little fortress of rocks? After I woke up after our – well, I had wanted to go confront Ozai, to stop the war, but I was too injured from the wound on my back, and kind of collapsed, and realized I didn’t have a plan, and turned back. Anyway, I had been staring into the Nation, and I remember seeing the rocks, cause they looked like a good place to land and give coverage, if soldiers came after me. So, this is one of the first places I’ve ever been in the Fire Nation!”

Zuko stares at Aang for a moment, digesting that.

And Uncle thought _he_ needed a break, Zuko thinks, looking at this child soldier.

“Well.” They continue on, the path winding, leading them towards some of the more populated outskirts of the city. “I’m glad you did survive.”

Twilight is starting to descend, just slightly, and Zuko is about to suggest they head home when Aang brightens, grabs Zuko’s hand, and tugs him towards a building in the middle of a courtyard.

“Look, look! This the school I attended for a couple of days!”

“Oh?” The building survived the battle completely, not a speck of damage visible. There are a few kids roaming around the courtyard, young – though, he thinks with a glance over, not actually younger than Aang beside him.

“Yeah! It was great – I made a lot of friends, and I danced, and played an instrument, and I was surrounded by people all morning, and it was just – it was really fun.”

Huh. “Have you – have you considered actually enrolling?”

Aang visibly startles from his dazed staring. “What do you mean?”

“I mean as a student. You’re – you’re the right age. You could go.”

Aang’s mouth opens and closes a few times, before saying, audibly confused, “But I’m the Avatar. I can level or raise cities.”

“Well, yeah, but can you like, do math?”

“Yes!” He asserts confidently, before deflating. “Well, sort of.”

“You don’t have to go. I mean, clearly, you don’t have to. But – I don’t know.” Zuko looks up at the school, its unblemished roofs, the halls that contain normalcy for so many. “If we learned anything, isn’t it that all of this is temporary? You just gotta do what you can with what you have. And if you have times of peace - why not take advantage of it to just…be ordinary?”

Aang considers it, looking up at the school, unblinking. He’s quiet long enough that Zuko’s considering moving on, before Aang sighs briefly. He’s still staring at the doors, unmoving. “Maybe you’re right,” he says at last. “It would be kind of nice to be around a bunch of other twelve-year olds.” That sounds like the makings of the first outer ring of hell to Zuko, but he and Aang are not the same person, clearly. “And who knows,” Aang continues, finally breaking his gaze at the building to grin at Zuko. “Maybe I’ll meet another Zuko!”

Zuko snorts. “You better hope not.”

Aang elbows him in the stomach. “Hey, be nice.” _To myself?_ Zuko thinks, but Aang continues before he can clarify what that meant. “If we had gone to school together, without everything that happened to both of us, do you think we would have been friends?” 

“I have no idea what I would have been like without the trauma inflicted on me from childhood.”

“Hm.” Aang appears to consider this, and then brightens. “Well, I think we would have been friends!”

“Sure, buddy.”

“It’s a shame I didn’t know you when you were younger.”

“Why? So I wouldn’t have grown up wanting to capture you?”

“No, dummy, so I could have loved you longer.”

He’s painfully sincere, and even more painfully cavalier. The affection, the plain platonic _love_ that exudes without thought or cost from Aang, strikes something, right where it hurts, right where it matters, and Zuko can feel his vision start to blur.

He looks away, down the green courtyard, and steadies his breath.

He spent years of his life working, fighting, struggling to earn even the echo of this sentiment from his father. And here’s Aang, handing it over, thoughtlessly, without a price when he’s done nothing but stand by his side.

He went to war for the former; what would he do for the latter?

 _Anything._ The thought is white hot and astounding in its certainty. _He’d do anything._

“Hey, buddy?” Zuko tries. Aang looks over, and the words falter in his mouth, the sentiment too unfamiliar in his mouth to pass through.

“Hm?” Aang prompts, after the moment stretches too long.

Zuko swallows around his original words. “Why don’t you pick what we do next? I’m having fun with your ideas.”

Aang looks at him like the sun came out, and perhaps that’s all Zuko can say right now, but perhaps that’s all Aang needs right now, too.

* * *

“I cannot do this,” Zuko hisses.

“Of course you can! You’re sixteen, sixteen-year olds did this all the time in my village.”

Zuko looks at the bottle of liquor with deep, pressing trepidation.

They’re in a field to the side of the school. Aang had disappeared for a few minutes and returned with the bottle; Zuko isn’t sure if he stole it or purchased it, and he’s also not sure which is worse.

“I don’t – I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It’s supposed to be fun!” Aang sounds like he believes it, probably because he’s never actually touched it in his life nor seen a single drunk human being outside of his childhood. “Come on, Zuko! Here, I’ll go first—”

Aang reaches for the bottle, and Zuko snatches it away before he can touch it. “Absolutely not! You’re not old enough!”

“If you don’t drink it, I will!”

Well. What else is he supposed to do?

“And sometimes, I’d hide in my closet for _hours_ through all of dinner and after, cause Azula would threaten to stab me with the knife, and I’d rather not eat then, then for – I didn’t even want – and it happened more than once!”

Zuko’s sniffles loudly, maybe a hiccup away from breaking down in tears a third time, and Aang is starting to look like maybe he had an error in judgement here.

“That’s—tough, buddy,” Aang tries, slowly reaching for the bottle. Zuko slaps his hand away.

“Hey!” Aang snatches his hand back. “You can’t – touch it. That’s the whole – drinking point. Cause—” Zuko points at Aang, a little unsteady. “You’re too young.”

“Wasn’t gonna drink it,” Aang says, and the _after seeing what you’re like drinking it,_ goes unsaid. “I was gonna break it, so you can’t have more."

Zuko blinks at him, then wails, “ _I could have done that in the first place! Why didn’t I think of that?”_ He hits his head with his hands. “Stupid, stupid, _stupid._ Why am I so _stupid?”_

“Hey.” Aang flings the bottle away, and Zuko can distantly hear it shattering. His heart feels big and lagging in his chest, and everything just aches a little – a little heavier. “Hey. You’re not stupid.”

Zuko flops down on the grass. “I am. I am! I’m no good at the diplomacy, and no good at the – at the goodness! I just. Sometimes I think the good parts of me are just…buried.”

Aang kicks him in the arm. “Like treasure!”

Zuko snorts sadly.

“Come on, Zuko.” Zuko glances up at Aang, who’s standing above him, hands on his hips, and something in his expression catches Zuko, makes the slow, sticky clogs of his brain turn a little.

Perhaps this is what they mean by _sobering._

“Are you okay?” Zuko asks.

Aang flops down to a sitting position on the grass. He huffs, and dejectedly starts pulling small tufts out. “Yeah, I just—” He sighs, heavy. “I just wanted this day to be fun for you. For you to forget about being a Fire Lord and just get to be yourself and stuff. But none of my ideas worked. You didn’t like the girl, and the show wasn’t special, you didn’t care about shopping, and other teenagers weren't any fun at all, and we kept getting yelled at, and this day clearly didn’t work.” He shakes his head, and mutters, “And you call _yourself_ stupid. I can’t even give my a friend a fun day out.”

Slowly, Zuko’s mind goes flits over the day, over the planned-not planned activities; it’s a deceptively minimal effort, purposeful and with such kind intention – and Aang’s still gloomily pulling grass, and this – this will not stand.

“Hey!” Zuko stands rapidly – far too rapidly, with how there’s apparently no blood in his brain and a _lot_ of something debilitating in whatever area of the body contains motor control. “Let’s – let’s firebend.”

“What?” It has the effect of making Aang stop pulling grass, but the expression isn’t totally knocked off his face. “What would we bend?”

“Fire!” Zuko exclaims, letting out a puff of flame. “How about – how about fire shaping?”

“What’s that?”

Zuko moves into position, bending at the knees, one foot perpendicular with the other, hands in front of his chest. With a pull back towards his body, squatting towards the ground, he forms the fire in his hands. With a burst of speed, he lets the fire go towards the sky, shaped like a small dragon. It flies in the air, wiggling in the sky like the real form, before disappearing in a smoky trail.

Zuko looks back at Aang, whose eyes are bright and excited. “Katara did that with water bending!” He shuffles to a standing position. “Hers was an octopus, but – but yeah! She did it for battle, but—”

“But it can be for fun,” Zuko says. With a spin and an arm movement, a Momo-like critters spurts from his hand. It jumps towards the sky, blinking out of existence.

“ _Cool,_ ” Aang says reverently. _“Cool!”_

“Wanna help me make an Appa?” Zuko asks.

Aang bounces on his toes. “ _Do I?_ ”

“Come on.” Zuko gestures for Aang to come by his side. “Okay, come on – position four of the Dancing Dragon. Keep your arms tucked in. Imagine Appa – keep him in your mind’s eye. Focus on him, on his shape. See him. Let your hands move in a circular motion, and create a little ball of fire.” Zuko peeks down at Aang, who, of course, is following him by the letter. “Good, okay, and then when I say so, spin, think Appa thoughts, ground your feet, and light the flare. Ready?” Aang nods. “Okay, spin!”

In their defense, it _does_ look like Appa. Also in their defense, it was a little dark to see the tree there. It’s a little easier to see when it’s on fire.

“Whoops,” Zuko says. He’s brain is still moving a little slowly, and, suddenly, he’s wondering if he should vomit.

“Hey!” A voice calls from down the hill. Their heads snap to the distraction. It’s the farmer that owns the land near the school, and – oh. “What did you do to my tree?!”

“Oops,” Aang says, and to his credit, it’s sincere. Within a second, he bends water from his supply, and extinguishes the fire. It doesn’t seem to stop the man’s ascent towards them, and so Aang grabs Zuko by the waist, whispers, “hold on,” and carries them straight into the air. “Sorry, Mr. Farmer Sir! I hope your tree is okay!” he calls, before pushing he and Zuko up and away.

* * *

He’s gotten better at the flying thing, Aang has, especially given he’s essentially carrying another person. He takes him straight to Zuko’s personal bedroom, which has a window that Zuko thankfully had kept open for some fresh air and to combat the heat.

They ungracefully tumble into the room, and Zuko hits the floor rather hard. His knees will bruise.

Aang lands next to him, back on the floor.

They both stay still for several moments, taking a breath to calm.

“You know,” Zuko says, after the pause. “Sokka was right. We shouldn’t have bended.”

Aang laughs, once, loud and real. After a moment, a second peal of laughter follows. Zuko collapses to the floor, and rolls onto his back, side by side with Aang. The laughter is contagious, and he finds himself chuckling along.

Aang looks over, clearly surprised. “Oh, wow.”

Zuko smiles at him, mirth still tainting his voice. “What?”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever heard you laugh before.”

He abruptly falls silent, self-conscious, and Aang’s eyes go wide and panicked. “No, no, don’t stop, don’t stop! Here, let me—” He makes a stupid face, pulling his mouth wide with his fingers. “Eh? Eh? Laugh worthy? Eh???”

Zuko lets out a disbelieving chuckle, despite himself, just that Aang actually thought that he was laughing at something being _funny,_ but Aang’s visibly relaxes, a grin overtaking his face.

“Nice. Nice. I’d call this day a success.”

“Yeah, buddy,” Zuko says, smiling. “Yeah. I’d say so.”

Tomorrow may bear any fruit, and Zuko still has to see what his Uncle said in the meeting, he still has to make decisions where his words will effect thousands, where his word will be change, and he has to learn how to make a life out of putting others first, and Aang still has the burden of hundreds of years of experience on his back, the eyes of thousands calling a twelve year old with less than a year of experience a savior, and the sun will rise on the same people in the same way - but today was a kinder, gentler day, and, in that moment, he could almost make himself feel that the planet turned slowly.

**Author's Note:**

> I JUST LOVE AANG


End file.
